


holdfast your wretched, withered heart

by CoachMegleg



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: 5 Times, Betrayal, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I like making Jolyon cry apparently, Implied Relationship, Lack of Communication, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoachMegleg/pseuds/CoachMegleg
Summary: //5 times Jolyon Till the Rachis didn't say Uldren's name, and 1 time he did//Whatever sick game he was playing, he wanted no part of it. He just wanted Uldren back, the old Uldren. The one who'd laughed with him, who called him Jol, who would lean again his arm when he had too much to drink and smile up at him like he'd hung the stars. He wanted his best friend back. He wanted back the man who'd captured his heart through stupid pranks and trust and safety and-He wanted his heart back.(Contains spoilers for Destiny 2)
Relationships: Uldren Sov/Jolyon Till the Rachis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	holdfast your wretched, withered heart

**Author's Note:**

> ((References to the Weapon and Armor Lore/ Lore Book Entries: The Forsaken Prince Lore Book (The Length of a Chain // Part I, Free // Part I & II, Jolyon) The Supremacy, Holdfast Mark, Holdfast Bond))

1.

They don't talk much anymore.

Not after what happened in the Black Garden. Looking back on it, Jolyon wished they had. He had been so wrapped up in his own twisted nightmares, his audience with the Queen and worries for the future- he forgot about the one person who meant the most to him.

How blind he had been.

They should've spoken about the Darkness. There was a reason why Queen Mara had forbidden anyone to travel to the Black Garden, to traverse its heart. The mere image of it still haunted him, kept him awake at night when sleep couldn't help him. He still remembered it vividly, no matter how hard he tried to forget. It's twisted visage warped by Vex technology, a false idol for a false God. A monstrous beating heart, sustaining a beast he dare not even imagine. Black inky tendrils that pulsed and withered and-

They should've talked about it.

Maybe it would've saved him the heartache of watching him leave.

After their stifled conversation in the arsenal weeks after they returned from the Garden, it seemed as though Uldren wanted to disappear from the Reef. Or, maybe the Prince couldn't stand to face him again. Whenever Jolyon caught sight of him, the moment he seemed to get close enough, he'd slip from his grasp. Uldren was always one step ahead of him, always out of reach. No longer was he walking side-by-side with the Awoken Prince, but always chasing after him, always trapped by his shadow but never close enough to touch.

Uldren was shutting himself away. It seemed he now only took council with the Queen, his sister- and even those meetings were brief and stinted, from what he'd managed to drag out from Petra Venj. Treason had been a word Mara Sov had thrown in his face once they'd returned from the Garden, questioning not only his, but her brother's loyalty to her.

She wanted blind loyalty. Devotion. Uldren had thought gifting her with a treasure from the Garden would appease her. It had only scorned him. Scorned them both.

He hadn't lied to her that day when he defended Uldren, that it was not treason to follow someone ~~blindly~~. That it was not treason that motivated their journey to the Garden, even though it had been against her wishes. It had been adventure- the possibility of seeing something no living being had ever seen before. To bare witness to the Darkness and live.

But were they really living now? Or had the Darkness taken that from them too?

~~He also hadn't lied to her when he said he loved him.~~

~~If only he'd been able to keep lying to himself.~~

Uldren wasn't the same after they'd returned home. The carefree man he had been friends with his whole life died the moment they stepped into the Garden, the moment they bore witness to that withering void. Something had changed. Uldren used to tell him everything. He remembered the long nights they'd spend together, huddled side-by-side either off world while scouting or at a bar or just watching the damn stars, talking about their hopes and fears and dreams. Now, he'd be lucky if he even managed to catch a glimpse of him.

In his worst nightmares, he imagined that dark, beating heart and its oozing tendrils snatching Uldren from his side. No matter how much he held onto him, no matter how much he begged and fought and _pleaded_ with that beating monstrosity, he always lost him. It would drag him into the darkest depths, a place Jolyon could not reach, somewhere the Crow could not follow. He always woke up before the darkness consumed his friends face, though the screams still rang in his ears.

Maybe he'd already lost him to that wretched thing.

Jolyon would do anything- _give anything_ \- to have him back.

“Have you seen him lately?” Jolyon asked casually, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched another one of those Guardians walk away from Petra's station on the Vestian Outpost. He typically didn't come here. Jolyon was having a hard time trusting himself these days, so to be surrounded by so many Guardians made his skin crawl. Too many unknown variables, too many possibilities in those unfamiliar faces.

But he wasn't here to mingle. He wanted answers.

“You'll need to be more specific” came her answer as she turned away from the monitors, raising a brow over at the lone Crow standing at the edge of her station, who didn't dare come closer. For all his talk of Uldren changing, he never liked to talk about just how different he himself was. How the circles under his eyes seemed permanent now, how he jumped at the slightest unfamiliar sound, the way his hands twitched and his pulse raced at the mere mention of Mars, how he refused to get closer than necessary to anyone.

“You know who I'm talking about.”

It would be so much harder if he had to say his name. Speaking his name would only make real the harrowing realization that he might've lost him before he could even have him.

“Do I?”

Jolyon scowled at Petra's seemingly easy indifference, how easily she seemed to be able to read through him. Uldren had always been the same way. That was probably why he'd liked her so much, why they so easily fit together on and off the battlefield.

He almost hated her for it.

After the silent staring contest between them, Petra sighed and shook her head. “No,” she had the gall to at least look remorseful, “I haven't seen him. The Queen is mobilizing our forces against the Dreadnaught. He might be organizing the remaining Crows. But I have not seen him for some time.”

This was news to him.

In Jolyon's opinion, the Dreadnauht was the Guardian's problem. The Taken, Oryx, Crota for that matter- this wasn't the Awoken's fight. They had not slain the Taken King's son, they did not encroach upon his domain. The Guardians had started this war, why must the Awoken finish it?

“I wasn't told about this.” He tried to keep the accusation out of his tone. He failed.

Petra looked pained. She knew something he didn't.

“You've been grounded.”

“ _What_?”

That was impossible. He couldn't be grounded, especially not from such an important mission. Every mission, no matter how big or small- Jolyon was always at Uldren's side, always fighting, always watching his back. He was a Crow. His duty was to serve and protect the Awoken, and that meant fighting a war for the Guardians if so be it.

“Who gave this order? Was it the Queen? Have I not shown her my loyalt-”

“It was not her, Jolyon” Petra raised a hand to stop his rant, her mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line. Jolyon's hackles rose. If it wasn't the Queen, it had to have been...

“ _He_ ordered it. I received the missive today. You've been grounded from the assault.”

Jolyon was unfamiliar with the sting of betrayal. Why would Uldren ground him for such an important mission? Why would he push him away now? After he'd been searching for him, chasing after the ghost of a man who seemingly did not want to be found. Why? Why why why whywhywhywhywhywh-

He quickly turned from her, ignoring the rest of whatever she had to say as he hurried to the hanger bay to seek answers. If Uldren was organizing the rest of the Crows, they might still be there, ready to depart with the rest of the fleet. He still had a chance.

Uldren couldn't leave him behind. He wouldn't allow it!

Whatever sick game he was playing, he wanted no part of it. He just wanted Uldren back, the old Uldren. The one who'd laughed with him, who called him Jol, who would lean again his arm when he had too much to drink and smile up at him like he'd hung the stars. He wanted his best friend back. He wanted back the man who'd captured his heart through stupid pranks and trust and safety and-

He wanted his heart back.

“ _Jolyon, my man,” Uldren Sov whispered to him that fateful day, the day when everything changed, “you are I are going to take the Black Garden”._

By the time Jolyon got to the hanger bay, Uldren was already gone.

2.

It happened faster than he could comprehend. The blast happened in a mere instant. Nothing could have prepared them for this.

The Awoken fleet was decimated.

Every fighter, every Crow, every pilot out fighting near the Dreadnaught was presumed dead. Everything had been reduced to cosmic ash. There was nothing to salvage.

Queen Mara Sov was dead. Her Techeuns lost.

“ _What news is there of the Prince?”_

_Static._

“ _Jolyon...”_

“ _No-”_

“ _I'm sorry.”_

He...he was...

Gone.

Jolyon choked on the words he couldn't say after news came to the Outpost. Sorrow tasted bitter on his tongue. His ribs ached as he struggled to breath through the scorching pain in his chest. The dark tendrils that haunted his nightmares, withering and pulsing, ripped and tore at what remained of him. If there was even anything left of him, what did he have after he had lost his heart?

Petra had been devastated. No longer was she the Queen's Wrath, for there was no Queen. Her grief consumed her at the loss, so much so she did not see the lone remaining Crow sulk back into the shadows.

Mara Sov had been loved. By Petra, by her people. Her loss was a gaping wound in the heart of every Reef Awoken.

He mourned for his Queen along with the rest of their people. Like a subject would their ruler. ~~He had once called her friend, when they were younger. Doing so now would only destroy him, would remind him about who he lost.~~

But his heart was wrecked by the loss of his Crow.

And that's what he had been. What he'd always been. They may not have put a name to it, but it had always been the two of them. The Crow was Jolyon's as much as Jolyon had been his. They were meant to be inseparable.

_And he had failed him._

A dark, twisted part of him almost wished he'd been there. That he'd died alongside him. What good was he now? Had he not told Mara he'd follow him anywhere, even into certain death?

What good was he now, a broken shell of a man?

What good was he now, when he couldn't even say his _name_?

3.

War comes and goes.

It never fucking ends.

The Taken War (how fitting, seeing as that war had taken everything from him) ended as it began- with death and destruction. The Guardians, as much as they were useful, were harbingers of ruin. Their light, their precious Traveler- it all brought nothing but destruction to the Solar system. With it brought the Darkness, the Taken, the monstrosity in the Black Garden.

(he'd heard rumors that Guardians were the one to bring down that dark, inky _thing_ he dare not give name to

he wasn't sure if he'd ever thank them for that or not)

With the ending of one war, another came in its place. A new conflict ravaged the system. The Red War, they called it. The Cabal destroyed the Tower, had taken the power from the Guardians. But like all wars before it- it came and went like any other, the Guardians fighting whatever races was foolish enough to combat them and emerging victorious.

Unsurprisingly.

There was a lull.

It was unsettling. The Reef and her people were still struggling to find some sense of normalcy, some sense of order among the chaos. There were whispers of someone- some group- destroying parts of the outer reaches of the Reef, near the Asteroid Belt. Ransacking ships heading to Earth, killing their people, stealing their supplies. Under Petra's shaky rule, there was only so much they could do to combat this new threat. She pulled back their people from the outer reaches of their territory, hoping this group would not be foolish enough to attack their strongholds, the heart of the Reef.

Some believed it to be the work of a new Fallen House- seeking revenge against them. The few survivors said there had been an Awoken with them, leading their ranks.

It all sounded like bullshit.

Normally, when the Reef became too stiffing like this, Jolyon would venture out to the field- somewhere, anywhere, just to get away.

It'd been some time since Jolyon had even left his private quarters.

Every time he looked towards his sniper rifle, mounted upon the wall of his workshop, the ever present ache he'd learned to ignore would become too much to bare. There would be no one waiting for him in the hangar bay, no one to travel the system with, no one to watch his back and be his spotter, no one who would run his fingers through his hair when Jolyon pretended to be asleep-

There was no one.

So he remained, hidden away in his private quarters, slaving over new weapon and armor schematics until his vision blurred and his hands shook too much to hold a soldering iron. He did not leave. He couldn't. There was nothing for him out there. Jolyon would have been content spending the rest of his days in this small, one bedroom that he called his own.

“Jolyon.”

He did not look up from his work bench. His only reply was the scraping of metal, the rustling of wires.

“ _Jolyon_.”

“I heard you the first time.”

That was no way to speak to the now Acting Regent-Commander of the Reef, but he cared not for fancy titles and false honorifics. Petra was still Petra, no matter what title their people put before her name was. A part of him felt bad for her. He knew she did not want this, the weight of the Reef on her shoulders. She did not deserve it. He remembered how she had once been- a corsair eager to prove herself to her peers, her Queen. Now, she had to prove to herself just how capable she could be.

Jolyon sighed, pushing back the goggles he had over his eyes before turning, ignoring the way her frown deepened at the sight of him. He knew he looked terrible, he certainly didn't need her to point it out to him.

When was the last time he ate? Or slept more than a few hours? The nightmares hadn't stopped. If anything, they'd only gotten worse. Instead of his Crow's face taken over by inky blackness, he pictured him lifeless, drifting through space just out of his reach.

Always out of his fucking reach.

He preferred to stay awake, if he could. The terrors of the waking world he could at least deal with.

There she was- as imposing as ever, standing in the threshold of his doorway. She hadn't come to him in some time, having given up trying to get him to leave his rooms a few months after the Taken War. Unlike some, she at least seemed to know when to stop fighting a losing battle.

“I need your help with something” she knew now not to ask him how he was. There was no point in useless pleasantries, since his answer remained the same since the last time she asked.

“I'm sure there's others who can help you.” Jolyon turned back to his work, hoping it was enough of a dismissal.

It was so quiet for a few moments that he'd foolishly believed it'd worked. That he'd at least have some semblance of peace.

“Please. There aren't many people I can trust with this” he hated the pleading tone in her voice. It wasn't often that Petra admitted she needed help- she'd turned down help the Last City, from their supposed leader. She was proud, he admired her for it. But for her to ask this of him...it must be important.

A sigh.

There was no point in saying no now.

“What is it?”

“I must warn you. You're...not going to like it.”

He didn't like most things these days. Surely it couldn't be that bad.

Famous last words.

4.

_The prisoner was flanked by corsairs on both sides, guns at the ready as he was lead towards the Prison._

_As if he would be foolish enough to try and run now, when he was where he wanted to be. He had taken down the Kell of the House of Kings, he had scorched the earth of the Reef, had killed his own subjects in the name of his loyalty to his lost Queen. They did not know what he was capable of, here in the midst of their stronghold._

_He may have surrendered himself to Petra and the Reef, but he would burn this mockery to the ground and dance upon the ashes._

_There was no fanfare, no welcoming celebration for the prodigal prince. Had they already forgotten about him- about their Queen, not this regent masquerading herself as leader?_

_It didn't matter. None of it would matter, once he was done._

_By the doors leading into the prison stood a man. Tall, carrying a sniper rifle. Intelligent, pained eyes. A handsome face. Had he known him? He frowns at the thought._

_The handsome stranger- or, was he a stranger? his face...- opened his mouth, as if to say something. His mouth formed a word but no sound came forth. Was it a plea? A name?_

_Would he call out to him?_

_Had he wanted something from him, from before? Something important?_

_His fingers itched. A phantom sensation he could not put the words to. For the first time in months, he wanted to reach out. To touch. So much had been taken from him already._

_Is he...?_

_The man shut his mouth. Said nothing. Turned his head away from him with sorrow etched across his face._

_And the prince was lead_

_down_

_down_

_down_

_into the Darkness_

5.

“No, Petra.”

How long had it been since he'd last been out in the field? Months? Years?

The weight of the sniper rifle in his hands felt foreign now as he ignored the woman laying beside him, her own rifle tucked beneath her armpit. She had sought him out (it was always like that now, he never went to her), having found him in this sniper-pit he'd made for himself overlooking Rheasilvia. It was peaceful here- if you ignored the Scorn and Taken.

The Dreaming City. To think the Awoken would ever be able to return to such a place, build on dreams and lies and _wishes_.

“I thought you would at least want to see hi-”

“There's nothing to see. He's dead,” it was haunting, the finality of those words, “he was dead long before you- or that Guardian friend of yours- shot him.” There was no malice in his voice. No venom. The man who died and was now laid out on some burial alter like a sacrificial lamb after slaughter was not the man he loved.

He had made a wish once. Laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the darkness of his own mind seemed to encroach upon him- Jolyon had wished to have him back. Even if he wasn't the same, he'd still love him. He'd still follow him to the ends of the galaxy, if that's what it took to have him back.

He'd lied to himself.

He'd been doing that a lot, lately.

That man was not his Crow. His Crow would not have slaughtered their people in the name of his sister. His Crow would not have killed a Guardian Vanguard in cold blood. His Crow would not have made a deal with the Darkness to bring back the only person he cared about.

At one point he would've thought himself among the ranks of those the Master of Crows cared for.

Maybe he hadn't known him very well after all.

Jolyon had known he was gone the moment he saw him in the Reef, flanked by guards as he was dragged to the lowest dungeon of the Prison of Elders. The wayward Crow had looked at him and saw _nothing_. So there was no point in seeing a body. No matter how much his heart screamed at him to go, for some sense of closure after years of wanting, waiting, _wishing_.

As Petra stood to leave, Jolyon twisted onto his side, glancing back at her. She looked as tired as he felt. There was always another fight to win, another threat to take care of. At least she was back out in the field where she belonged. Being stuck at the Outpost didn't suit her.

“He hadn't recognized me, in the end,” his voice was barely above a whisper, and he wasn't even sure if Petra had heard him. But he didn't care. He needed to say it, that maybe the words would help uncoil the dark tendrils gripping at his lungs, his heart. That if he spoke them into existence, the pain of his absence would lessen.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Why did he keep lying?

This must be some sort of punishment, some divine retribution for what he'd done. Maybe he deserved this, this never-ending cycle of pain and loss that gnawed and tore at every vulnerable piece of himself he had left.

She at least let him have his dignity and didn't speak as he felt the hot tears stream down his cheeks.

“ _Jolyon, my man, you are I are going to take the Black Garden”_

No.

The Black Garden took everything from him.

By agreeing to go with him, he had helped turn his best friend into a monster.

Was that to be his legacy? Jolyon Till the Rachis, former Crow, weapon smith, sniper,

creator of _monsters_?

(+1)

It was in the Gardens of Esila when Jolyon's world came tumbling down.

Jolyon had taken to adventuring near the more remote sections of the Dreaming City these days. It seemed as though at every turn, there was another Guardian out seeking their glory along with the City's hidden secrets. They always did have a habit of sticking their nose into things they shouldn't, but Petra had allowed them here- he was in no position to complain.

So here is where he found himself, patrolling along the ancient gardens that had once been home to his people- where they would sit and play and _live_. Now, it was filled with nothing but Taken. Though, they hadn't been particularly troublesome to deal with, and soon enough the area was momentarily cleared. That allowed Jolyon a moment to breath.

The Dreaming City had a certain...sound to it. An undercurrent of melody, a hum almost, a long forgotten lullaby. As if the city itself was alive. Before it had unnerved him, now it brought a sense of peace. When he was alone he could hear it, so he took a moment to shut his eyes and be still.

It'd been harder these days, to find moments of quiet peace among the chaos.

“ _It's time to let him go, Jolyon.”_

Some nights, he still couldn't rest. Some nights the sleeping bag he carried with him felt too harsh, too grating on his skin, so he'd lay out and watch the stars. He knew Petra had a few corsair scouts watching him, making sure he didn't do anything rash. Anything hasty. But there was nothing for him to do. Nowhere for him to go. So he'd sit out at night when he knew no one was watching and close his eyes and pretend he wasn't so utterly alone.

“ _Jol, look at that!”_

“ _They're just stars-”_

“ _Your utter lack of imagination is astounding.”_

Deep breath.

“ _You've had too much to drink. C'mon-”_

“ _Joooolll! My be-est friend!”_

“ _I'm your only friend, You Royal Pain in the As-”_

“ _Hey!”_

In.

“ _I'm going, though, I really am. You've got to come, Jol! You'll never live it down if you miss this-”_

Out.

“Check this out!”

Jolyon's eyes snapped open at the unfamiliar, robotic voice. A few clicks northeast, around the bend of coiled, curling trees. He'd scouted the area- he was supposed to be the only one here. Had someone managed to slip past him undetected?

Grasping his rifle, the former Crow crept closer to the voice, listening as whoever it was chatted on and on about- about nonsense. About the trees, and the flowers, and the glowing crystals illuminating the gazebo that stood towards the center of the garden. An endless stream of useless chatter. Whoever they were, they certainly weren't afraid of whatever could be lurking nearby, since they didn't bother to try and keep their voice down.

He peaked around the corner, watching as one of those...Ghosts flew about, chatting loudly to itself.

Oh great.

If a Ghost was nearby, that meant-

Jolyon's brow furrowed as a figure stepped into sight. A tall, slender man from the looks of it. He couldn't get a good look at his face, since he was-

Wait a minute.

Was he using an old Awoken banner as a _cloak_?

Jolyon couldn't help but roll his eyes. Those Guardians just loved taking things that weren't theirs. But unlike some of the other Light-touched protectors he'd run into, this man seemed...quieter. More subdued. The mysterious Guardian's shoulders were curled in a bit, the figure silent as his Ghost chatted a mile a minute.

He didn't look like a threat,but Jolyon knew that looks could be deceiving. Guardians could topple Gods- he wasn't about to judge one just because he was a bit on the lean side.

But what was it that made him step out from the shadows? He wouldn't be able to tell you, but as he stepped forward, the figure turned in his direction. The hood covering his face slipped back, and it took Jolyon a moment to remember how to breathe.

Oh.

Oh no.

It couldn't be.

Petra had said he was dead. He had died by her hand (or the Guardian's he didn't care who pulled the trigger).

The face staring back at him looked guarded, confused. There was no cocky grin. No bright, vibrant eyes. No crows feet around his eyes when he smiled. This man, this shell of a man, looked haunted. Like he'd woken from a bad dream and was unsure of where he was.

Maybe he was living a nightmare. Just like Jolyon.

“Uldren...”

His voice cracked, the familiar name sounding so foreign on his tongue. When had been the last time he said his name out loud?

“Uldren?”

The man looked up, lips turned down in a frown. Did he recognize him? Please, he almost begged him, please just look at me and _remember_.

Remember me, he pleaded.

“ _He's gone, Jolyon. I'm so, so sorry.”_

“Uldren-”

His feet could not carry him fast enough as he tried to close the distance between them.

“ _My Queen, I love him, and I would follow him into death, if he asked me to-”_

“Uldren!”

His outburst seemed to startle him, the man taking a small step backwards with every step Jolyon took forward. It was like a dance, a game he was far too familiar with. Would he always be doomed to chase after him? Would he always be stuck in his shadow, desperately reaching with aching hands only to be met with nothing but shadows? The Ghost floated beside his head, probably talking, probably asking questions, but all Jolyon could focus on was his face.

It was him. It had to be him. Jolyon knew that face like he knew his own. They were two-halves, they had been inseparable-

“Who?”

Who knew that one word spoken in that voice he loved so much would make

Jolyon's heart

_shatter._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this :) 
> 
> If you'd like to yell at me about how sad Jolyon is, you can find me over on Twitter @ CoachMegleg


End file.
